


Every Ending is a New Beginning, and Other Cliches

by hellkitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little sap. It's been a rough week.</p>
<p>Spoilers for Dark Cybertron, also canon divergence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Ending is a New Beginning, and Other Cliches

 

Ratchet had held onto the flimsy for so long that the number on it had become unreadable. It would have been useless, had he not memorized the alphanumeric string a long time ago. He wasn’t even sure why he kept it around, under the flat of his chestplate, except for the fact that he was turning into a sentimental fool in his old age.

He wasn’t sure why Drift had given it to him, pressed it into his hand as he'd climbed into the shuttle in his exile, his damaged chestplate still seeping. Or rather, he did: Drift’s complicated way of looking at the world—giving himself something to look forward to and long for, day after day.

Ratchet hadn’t called. Not once. It never seemed like the right time; he never knew what to say. One of the side effects of being a medic: you got used to people coming to you, starting the conversation.

Even when Rodimus had confessed—probably not enough—Ratchet hadn’t called. Because he was angry then, angrier than he’d ever been, and the conversation would have been one-sided, yelling at Drift, calling him stupid and self-sacrificing and an idiot and a too loyal friend to people who didn’t deserve it.

But he was afraid he fell into that latter category himself, and if Drift needed to hear from him, it wasn’t for hard words and judgment.

His anger hadn’t left him, just cooled somewhat, and standing on the charred ground of Cybertron, ash still swirling grey and thick in the air, grimying up the sunlight, it had just gone brittle, his anger, and he’d realized it was time. Ratchet still wasn’t sure what he should say—it was one of those things, the longer you went without talking, the harder it seemed to be to start, until this felt like he was confronting a wall higher than the sky. The medibay was at a lull, and he had nothing to do: no more excuses. 

But Drift picked up, relayed through the ansible network somehow, surprisingly fast and clean. And the few words Ratchet had put together, trying to not sound like a total idiot, seemed to fall away as the face materialized above the cube. He just…looked, for a long moment, optics traveling over the lines of Drift’s face, as though he could read the loneliness, the aching spark as loyalty and faith stretched thin in the long, solitary nights.

“….hey,” Drift said, finally, a smile, or something like it, trying to kindle on his mouthplates.

“Hey,” Ratchet echoed, because it was better and easier and safer than thinking of something original. “I just—“

“It’s good to hear from you,” Drift said, the words a little too fast, too eager, telling Ratchet more than he needed to know about how Drift had missed contact, any contact. He’d always been like that, trying to convince himself he didn’t need anyone else, stubborn denial.

“Yeah,” Ratchet said, and the silence fell around them for a long moment. “There’s…a lot’s happened.” Too much to even figure out where to begin, and he regretted having waited so long, too long.

“Have you found the Knights?” A plaintive envy in his voice.

“No. No. We ended up back on Cybertron. And things got, well…weird.” Weird was a good word for it. Shockwave, undead Metrotitans, portals to the Dead Universe, Optimus coming back, something about collapsing all of the dimensions of the universe into one giant quantum singularity…yeah. Weird.

“But now?”

“Settling down,” Ratchet said. “For better or worse.”

“And you? You’re all right?”

“I should be asking the questions here,” Ratchet said.

A shrug. “I’m fine.”

“Right.” He believed that like he believed in boson fairies.

“Alive, at any rate,” Drift countered.

“I can see that,” Ratchet said, wryly.

“Happy to hear from you,” Drift offered again, a little more tentatively, as though aware his conversational skills, never that great, were thick with rust. 

Ratchet narrowed his optics. “So, what have you been up to, anyway?”

“Oh. You know. Just, uh, floating around.”

“Uh huh.”

“Having adventures.”

“Adventures.” Right. This was getting almost sad, watching Drift squirm. Drift wasn’t the ‘adventures’ type. That was Rodimus. Drift had always needed a purpose, something to do, something that made him feel like he mattered. “So right now you’d be…?”

The blue optics darted anxiously, like he was chasing a fly. “I. Uh…on Cybertron. Too.” A nervous 'how 'bout that' laugh. 

“Cybertron.”

“Yeah, I just, you know, got here. Too late, apparently.” A long, frustrated sigh. He could imagine how that would be for Drift, wanting to do the only thing he felt he was good at, only to show up after all the action. "I didn't realize--I thought you all were, you know...." 

“Here. Where’s here?” Well, that explained why there was no ansible lag.

“Ibex, or at least where it used to be.” The optics floated offscreen, followed by a shrug. “I think.”

“Drift. It’s dangerous—“

“Ratchet. I lived in the gutters. There’s nothing here as dangerous as back then. No syphoners, no salvagers. Besides, I’m not sure, uh, I should get any closer. You know.”

“Rodimus.”

The kind of sigh that sagged the shoulderplates. “I don’t want to make things difficult.”

Still protecting Rodimus. Ratchet felt his mouth pull into a scowl. Nothing against Rodimus—well, not much, but he didn’t deserve this loyalty from Drift. “You have rights, Drift. Besides.” A long pause, because this hurt to say. “I’d like to see you.” There. He added, quickly, “At least check you over. It’s been a while.”

The optics glowed, abruptly, betraying all the cool exterior Drift was trying so hard to project. “I-if you want.”

“Ibex,” Ratchet said. “Be there in 20.” He shut off the cube before either of them could have second thoughts.

***

It seemed fitting to find Drift in a place like this, a ruined city, all the things of Cybertron’s bright glittering former life shattered around him, glass fused from some roiling past heat, warping light into strangely shaped prisms, casting glitters like stars flung to ground. Ratchet’s tires crunched on cinders as he rolled to a stop, pushing up, looking around.

It didn’t take long—a shadow detached itself from one of the hulks of twisted wreckage that Ratchet realized was once the triumphal arch of Ibex’s famous raceway. And there he was, white armor smudged and stained, small scrapes marring the red of his spaulders. But Drift was right—he’d looked worse, when Ratchet had met him in Rodion. At least his optics were clear and the mouth wasn’t locked into that scowl anymore—something that was struggling, instead, to be a cocky grin.

“Hey, I’ve got a whole city now.” It was clear Drift had been practicing what to say, what impression he wanted to make, this time, leaping nimbly down the rubble to the half-cleared street. He stopped in front of Ratchet, optics searching Ratchet’s face, hoping to see…Ratchet had no clue. Maybe Drift was just that hungry to see another face.  He'd have to be, to settle for Ratchet's mug. 

“You’re an idiot,” Ratchet said, his own mouth working with emotion, before he abruptly closed the distance between them, pulling the smaller mech against him, their flat chestplates pressing together so tightly Ratchet could feel the sudden up-pulse of Drift’s spark under the armor, the way his EM field flickered, uncertain, before washing forward around him. The swordsmech’s arms tightened around Ratchet, and he felt Drift’s optics shutter closed against his shoulderplate. “And don’t you ever fraggin’ change.”


End file.
